Paris."

"Yes, on the other side of the Seine, near the Odeon. Our
grandfathers imagined that they were very smart when they stayed
here. It's one of the few places in town that has atmosphere."

"I like it," said Joan.

The hall was alive with people, laughing and talking, and the walls
with the rather bold designs of the posters. A band, which made up
in vim and go what it lacked in numbers, was playing a selection
from "The Chocolate Soldier." The place was full of the smell of
garlic and cigarette smoke and coffee. There was a certain dramatic
animation among the waiters, characteristically Latin. Few of the
diners wore evening clothes. The walls were refreshingly free from
the hideous gold decorations of the average hotel.

Men stared at Joan with undisguised interest and approbation. Her
virginity was like the breath of spring in the room. Women looked
after Palgrave in the same way. Into that semi-Bohemianism he struck
a rather surprising note, like the sudden advent of caviar and
champagne upon a table of beer and pickles.

They were given a table near the wall by the window, far too close
to other tables for complete comfort. Waiters were required to be
gymnasts to slide between them and avoid an accident. Palgrave
ordered without any hesitation, like a newspaper man finding his way
through a daily paper.

"How do you like it?" he said.